Sherlock the Hypnotist
by wendymarlowe
Summary: John doesn't believe hypnosis works. Sherlock proves him wrong. (PWP)
1. Chapter 1

"She was hypnotized. That's your explanation." John was still sputtering in disbelief when they got back 221B, but Sherlock just shrugged.

"It was obvious, John. She disliked her ex-husband, certainly. But it was all resentment - not enough to actually kill him. Her hypnotherapist, on the other hand, had a very good reason for wanting the ex dead - the ex knew about the affair, knew his wife had been sleeping with her therapist since before the divorce, and knew enough to drag that fact out in court, which would have cost him his medical license. So logically the therapist took the easiest way out - he hypnotized his lover-slash-patient to shoot her ex, conveniently removing the threat and ending his affair all in one go."

"But why?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "She loved him, he didn't love her. Simple enough. Made it easier to get her to murder for him, though."

John shook his head. "I don't buy it. I'll grant that highly suggestible people with a large dramatic streak might fake being hypnotized on stage or something, but that's just for the attention. Nobody would murder under hypnosis."

"You're so sure?"

"Yes, I am, rather." John collapsed into the armchair and grabbed the remote for the telly. "Load of nonsense, and Lestrade isn't going to believe you either."

"Would you believe me if I said I've done it?"

John lowered the remote and turned to stare at him. "What, murdered someone while hypnotized?"

"No, no murder, just hypnotized people."

"Let me guess - for a case?"

Sherlock smirked. "No, just an experiment. Quite enlightening, actually. But it does work, and I found it relatively easy to hypnotize my subjects into a wide variety of responses, even things they wouldn't normally do. I discovered I'm rather good at it. Murder wouldn't be too much of a stretch."

_"Christ."_ John rubbed the sudden ache at his temple. "You're going to try to hypnotize people into murdering someone now, aren't you? You're a bloody sociopath sometimes."

"Never denied that. You believe me now?"

"I believe you're delusional."

"Fine." Sherlock swung the desk chair around and sat on it backwards, his limbs all awkward angles as he folded his arms across the top and laid his chin on the back of his wrist. "I'll make you a bet, then - I bet I can hypnotize you, even though you're skeptical. You're suggestible enough."

John sighed. "Sherl- oh for God's sake. I'm not suggestible. And why would I want to do that? Why do you think I would bloody well encourage you?"

"Because you want to know if I'm telling the truth. And you're curious what it would be like to be hypnotized."

_I fucking hate when he deduces me like that_. John bit back the immediate denial - no point, really - and took a deep breath instead before replying. "What, you want to try to convince me to bark like a dog or something?"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the side, studying him. "No, too boring. I think - let's go for the loudest orgasm of your life."

All John could do was blink.

"It's an obvious choice," Sherlock continued, seemingly oblivious to John's stunned reaction. "You're a relatively private man - you never wank with your door open, only in bed after I'm asleep or in the shower where the sound of the water will cover any noises you make. You never bring dates back here, because you prefer the sexual aspect of your life to stay hidden from me and Mrs. Hudson. An orgasm has some rather obvious physical proof that you're not just faking it, so to speak, and a loud orgasm would stray rather far into territory you wouldn't normally traverse. Perfect proof that it was the hypnosis and not just something you could explain away afterwards. In short, me hypnotizing you into experiencing the loudest orgasm of your life would illustrate my point nicely, I think."

"_Bloody_ - You really have no sense of boundaries, do you."

"Not usually, no." Sherlock smiled politely, but his eyes were already bright with interest. "Boundaries are boring. Would you prefer to move to the couch, or stay where you are? Either is fine."

John heaved a long sigh, but shifted over to the couch. "I don't know why I'm doing this. Why am I doing this, Sherlock?"

"I told you already - you're suggestible."

"Fuck off."

"Hush." Sherlock eyed him in that _way_ he usually did just before seriously pissing John off. No caustic comment followed, though, just a casual gesture for John to swing his legs up and lie down flat on the couch. John cursed himself, but he did it.

"Do I have to close my eyes or something?"

"Only if you want to. You will eventually." Sherlock unfolded himself from the desk chair and turned off the overhead light. He wandered over to the recently-vacated armchair, collapsing into it sideways so he could keep an eye on John and his feet sprawled out over one arm. "I'd tell you before we start that you can always say you're uncomfortable and I'll stop, but it would be a lie."

"What, you wouldn't stop?"

"No, you would never say it." Another smug smile. "Comfortable?"

John shrugged.

"Good. Let's begin."


	2. Chapter 2

"We'll start at the beginning - just breathe."

John forced in a deep breath and tried not to squirm. He wasn't _averse_ to this, necessarily, but it was disconcerting to have Sherlock's fanatical attention all focused on him at once, especially given the supposed outcome of this little experiment. He could literally feel Sherlock's eyes on him.

"Deep breaths, John. Just relax. In and out, slow deep breaths. Let your mind get in rhythm with my voice. I'm not asking you to do anything except breathe right now. Slowly breathe in, then slowly let it out. That's it. In - now out."

John found it surprisingly easy to allow his breathing to match the pace Sherlock set. He stared absently at the ceiling and tried to relax as much as he could.

"That's it. Just relax - let the stress and the tension slowly fade from your body with each breath. In and out, each breath calming and relaxing you more, each breath taking you deeper. Your body is pressing heavier into the cushions now, deeper and more relaxed. The deeper you go, the better you feel. The better you feel, the deeper you go. Keep letting go of everything except the sound of my voice and just sink right down deeper."

Sherlock's voice was particularly mesmerizing now, lower than usual and filled with a melodic quality it usually only got when he was trying to manipulate someone. John had never taken the time to realize quite how _nice_ that voice was. Calm and relaxing and utterly unthreatening. Some corner of his brain noted that Sherlock _was_ being manipulating, was manipulating _him_, but it was okay, he didn't mind right now, it was all good.

"I'm going to count down from ten to one, John, and with each number, I want you to sink down even deeper than you were before. Picture a staircase, do you see it? We're at the tenth stair, and down at the bottom is the softest, most comfortable bed you've ever felt. I'm going to walk you down those stairs so you can sink into that bed and just relax. We're at ten. We're at ten, and while you're taking deep breaths, I want you to close your eyes. Open them when you breathe in, slowly, and close them when you breathe out. Can you do that for me, John? Nod for me."

John managed a sleepy nod.

"Good. Breathe in - eyes open - and breathe out - eyes closed. Very good, John, you're listening to my voice beautifully. In . . . and out, open . . . and closed. We're at step ten, and now we're going down to nine. The ninth step, John, and now you're sinking even deeper. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyelids feel heavier now, but you can still manage, you can open them when you breathe in and close them when you breathe out. Listen to the rest of your body, John - feel your heart pumping in your chest, feel the blood racing throughout the rest of your body. Let your pulse help guide you as you breathe in and out, eyes slowly open and shut.

"And now we're going down to the eighth step, John, even deeper. And your eyelids are even heavier, and you can stop struggling to open them whenever you want to. Just let them stay relaxed and shut. In and out, deep breaths."

John let all the air out of his lungs and let his eyes drift closed. It was too much trouble to bother with them anyway.

"Good. You're doing so well, John. We're at the eighth step, and we're getting closer to that soft, comfortable bed down at the bottom of the stairs. You're even more relaxed, now - you can feel a wonderful, warm, calming feeling of relaxation flowing through you. It's starting at your toes and flows up through your legs and thighs and up to swirl around your waist. Your legs are completely relaxed, so comfortable. And we're going down to the seventh step now, going deeper, and that warm feeling of relaxation goes even higher so it's washing through your chest. You don't even have to think about breathing now, John, you're doing so well, your body is just breathing slow and easy on its own and you can let yourself just enjoy the that warm, calming feeling flowing through you."

John obediently let go of the in and out of breathing, he didn't need to think about that anyway. His legs were deliciously relaxed, almost like he was sitting in a hot tub and letting the water buffet his muscles this way and that, it didn't matter . . .

"One more step now, down to the sixth step, and you're sinking down even deeper. That relaxing wave rises to wash through your shoulders, now, John, and you feel no pain, nothing except that comfortable soothing feeling, so warm. Let out all your tension, you're nearly boneless now. And down to the fifth step, it feels so natural, that warm wave sweeps down over your shoulders and all the way to your fingertips. Your arms are so heavy, so relaxed. Completely limp. Focus on relaxing your arms so much you couldn't move them even if you tried. You know you could if there were an emergency, but there isn't, there's just the sound of my voice and that warm, comforting wave of feeling washing over you. Deeper and deeper. I want you to try to move your arm now, John, try but you can't because it's so relaxed, so loose. Try it now."

John shrugged his shoulder. Or at least, he thought about shrugging his shoulder. He genuinely did try, but somewhere between his brain giving the command and the muscles actually receiving it, something went haywire and nothing moved. It was an odd feeling, something he knew he'd probably care a lot more about if only he weren't so blissfully relaxed right now.

"Good, good," Sherlock's voice soothed. "You can stop trying now, John, just let your arms melt and enjoy that warm relaxing wave of calmness soothe over you. We're going down to the fourth step now, number four, and as you step down deeper, that warm wave comes right up over the top of your head. Everything in your neck, your spine, your scalp, all relaxes completely, all warm and comfortable and easy and deeper and deeper down to the third step now, nearly there, and there's nothing else, John, nothing except my voice, nothing but my words. You're doing so well, there's nothing in the world except my voice and my commands. And you're so relaxed, so comfortable, so deep. You find that my words become your reality, John. What I say you feel, you feel. What I say you know, you know. You feel content, so amazingly content, John, and there's nothing odd or shameful about this, nothing at all, just nod your head."

John tilted his chin downward with barely a thought.

"That's right - follow my words, John. What I say you do, you do. You listen so well. You're completely relaxed, and we're going down to the second step, step two, only one more step to go and we'll be at the bottom of the stairs. And it's so natural, so comfortable to be this content, and you know that your contentment makes me happy. I am so happy you're relaxed, John, so happy you're comfortable and loose and open and ready to take that last step, one last step down to the bottom stair. Take that step, John, and now we're at the bottom. You're more relaxed, deeper than you've ever been, so relaxed you can't even move or think, just listen. Just float."

It was a bit like floating. Or . . . John's mind couldn't grasp words right now, couldn't think of them, but it was okay because Sherlock was still talking in that soothing almost-monotone and he, John, was sinking down into the softest bed he had ever seen and it was glorious.

"Are you lying on the bed now, John? Let yourself relax on it, nobody else there but me, my voice. I want you to open your eyes now, John, but you're not in 221B, you're on the bed at the bottom of the stairs and you're utterly comfortable. Open your eyes now."

He did. The signals coming in through his optic nerve said _ceiling_, but his brain helpfully replaced everything else with _bed_. A blindingly white duvet, over white sheets, with four white posts extending up from the corners of the bed, and John was sprawled inelegantly in the center of it. Sherlock was standing somewhere out of view, behind the headboard, but it didn't matter because John was so _comfortable_ and the bed was so soft -

"I'm going to snap my fingers now," Sherlock's voice said. "Each time I snap, you'll feel a wave or arousal wash through you. It's the most natural thing in the world, and you're happy to relax and just allow it to happen."

_SNAP_. Just as Sherlock had predicted, John felt a familiar sensation roll over him. Except this time, he made no effort to suppress it, no effort to ignore or pretend it hadn't happened. John took a ragged breath.

"Again." _SNAP_. "Let it grow - every time I snap, that wave gets a bit stronger, feels better and better." _SNAP_. John shuddered. "Let it flow through you, pulling at you, stronger and stronger each time." _SNAP_. "Your body stays relaxed, so relaxed, but your cock is getting tighter, you know what's coming." _SNAP_. "You love this feeling so much, love the anticipation of the next wave crashing over you. Love waiting. And it's not quite enough, is it? Your pants are too tight, too tight for this. You shouldn't be wearing your pants. Use your hand to unzip your trousers and ease your cock out and it will feel so wonderful, so amazing."

John's mouth was dry now, but the command made sense, his pants _were_ too tight . . . he eased the fly of his trousers open one-handed and slipped his cock out through the slit in his Y-fronts. The relief was astounding, and when Sherlock snapped again he bit back a moan.

"No need to hide it, John," Sherlock's voice reprimanded gently. "Let your hand fall back at your side - too heavy, too relaxed." _SNAP_.

He did.

"Your whole body is heavy, relaxed, too heavy to move. You're sinking into the mattress of that soft bed, focused entirely on the pleasure rolling over you. I want to hear it, John. Use your voice to let me hear it - no words, just let that wave of arousal roll straight through your body and through your cock and right out your mouth."

_SNAP_. And it was the most natural thing in the world to groan, to let the sound trail off into nothingness as that amazing wave of _feeling_ coursed through him and left him immobile but straining.

"That's it, John. So intense, so real. Submit to that feeling of pleasure." Sherlock's voice sounded a tiny bit hoarser, but it was unmistakably _Sherlock_, calming, relaxing.

_SNAP_. Another moan, almost a shout this time.

"Beautiful. Stronger and stronger, each wave, the waiting only makes it better, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pleasure is getting so strong, you can't hold back your cries now, you're getting so close . . ."

_SNAP_.

John shouted, cried, pleaded wordlessly, twitching without moving a muscle as Sherlock held him there on the cusp for what could have been hours, days. _SNAP_. His mouth was completely dry from panting and moaning and shouting, but still his orgasm was always _almost_ there, just out of reach -

"This is it, John. Just one more snap of my fingers, and you know this time, it will push you over the edge and you will orgasm. You're aching, straining for it . . . and . . ."

_SNAP_. "Come for me. Orgasm now."

And John came. His brain couldn't keep track of both what was coming out of his mouth and what was coming out of his cock, so he focused on the waves of release battering through him and only distantly registered the noise coming from his own throat.

_SNAP_. "Again."

_Oh God_ . . . but he came again, hard on the heels of the first, more a continuation than a separate event, until John's heart was threatening to escape his ribcage and he felt utterly, completely drained. And somewhere, there off behind the headboard of that magnificent bed, Sherlock was watching him.

"I'm going to count to five," Sherlock's slightly shaky voice announced, "and you're going to wake up. You'll feel alert and awake and refreshed and not at all embarrassed. Close your eyes now and open them again once you're awake and ready to talk. Five . . ."

* * *

John opened his eyes slowly, feeling as if he had been drugged. No, not drugged . . . something amazing, relaxing.

It took a moment to come back to his senses. It's not that he didn't _remember_ what happened, exactly - it just took a bit for his fears and insecurities to creep back. When he finally forced himself to focus on Sherlock, he saw Sherlock's steady gaze was fixed on him.

"Thoughts?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John arched his back experimentally. It felt stiff and liquid at the same time, like after sleeping all night in the armchair by mistake. "I don't know that I have many of those back yet," he admitted.

And was rewarded with a flash of true smile, no smirk. "I did warn you," Sherlock said.

"Warned me what?"

"That hypnosis is real. That I was rather good at this." The look in his eyes intensified. "That you would have the loudest orgasm of your life."

John glanced down, not as embarrassed as he might have expected to be to see the front of his jumper damp with his own come. Or to have his cock hanging out of his trousers, for that matter. Hard to be embarrassed after a bloody great screaming orgasm like that one.

"I think you've failed to conclusively prove your hypothesis, Sherlock," he finally said.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him.

So John casually tucked his cock back into his pants. "You neglected to control for outside variables."

"Such as?"

John sat up on the couch and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "Such as the fact that your voice gets me bloody hard even without the hypnosis. I'm pretty sure we could have repeated that experiment with you reading the damned phone book and we would have replicated the result."

The stunned look on Sherlock's face as John got up and headed for his bedroom went a long way toward soothing his embarrassment.


End file.
